Box of Cookies

I have had a tough day and I knew I was not looking my best with dark circles under my eyes and a mess which was supposedly my hair. I probably lost all the glow of the tiny bit of make up I put on about twelve hours ago. I probably look like a zombie that just walked out of the grave. I was surprised, though, when you showed up just when I was about to leave and end the day as it was -- horrifyingly stressful. Your hands were behind your back. I had no patience left for games. Sensing my cranky mood, you simply revealed what was behind you. A box of chocolate chip cookies. I was confused and looked at you as if asking if those cookies were for me. You gave me a soft chuckle. I love it when you do that, when you think I am being silly but you still like me anyway. I joined you, and your chuckle turned to a laugh. It has probably been two minutes since you came, and neither of us said a word, yet I felt like we just exchanged a perfectly understood conversation. Still, without a word, I grabbed the cookies with the energy of a three-year-old, and for a moment there, I was gently electrified when my fingers ever so lightly touched yours. Then and there, I knew I was reborn. Well, figuratively speaking, of course, as I know I was still a huge mess. There is something about you that makes everything as natural as breathing. There is a certain lightness like a show of dandelion snow floating about in such a carefree manner, and suddenly, the world seems not harsh at all. I looked back at the box of cookies. If there was a way to eat them and preserve them, I would do that. I wanted to freeze this moment. I couldn't be more thankful for your simple gesture that reminded me about the beauty of life. You are as sweet and as likable as your box of cookies. Now, cookies would probably always remind me of you, and maybe, just maybe, I would always be bursting with butterflies and joy and energy every time I have this delightful treat.